


quarter moon at midday

by orangina



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: 2016 Summer Olympics, Happy Ending, M/M, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangina/pseuds/orangina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan loses the 200 I.M.</p><p>(Or the one where Ryan doesn't know if it's over.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	quarter moon at midday

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my very first work in this fandom. I've only ever read and written RPF about German soccer/footballers, but these two were truly my first love. It all started at the 2008 Olympics, and I was only 11 at the time so I had no idea what I was actually doing, but I started shipping these babies like Fed Ex. I guess you can't ever really let go of your first ship. So, I watched the 200 I.M. the other night and got feels and so birthed this fic. (Yes, it's a little late and probably a little rough cause I'm just trying to get it up since it's midnight and I'm supposed to fly out of the country tomorrow and haven't packed, please forgive my poor soul. I'll edit as soon as I can.)
> 
> Anyways, if anyone ends up reading this, I hope you like it and I'd really love some feedback! Don't know if I'll ever write Phlochte again since this was kinda a one time punch in the gut, but who knows :]

Ryan Lochte hated to lose.

That combined with the fact that this was his last Olympic race ever did not make for a good feeling.

When he touched the wall and looked up at the scoreboard, it didn’t feel real. 5th place. Not even close. His entire body burned, and he was beginning to see black, but that glowing number 5 right next to his name refused to cave in to his exhaustion.

If only he could go back two minutes to the starting block and do this whole race over again, maybe things would be different.

But as seconds ticked by and two minutes became three minutes, then four, then five, creating more distance between Ryan and the starting block, the possibility of going back seemed less and less realistic.

He was devastated.

\---

He talked to an NBC reporter after the race. He talked, but he couldn’t really concentrate on what he was saying on account of the fact that there still wasn’t a lot of oxygen to spare in his body, let alone enough for his brain.

He was bummed about the result, but he’d given it his all, he said. And he needed a break from swimming, he said. Like, immediately. It was getting hard to find ways to make it fun.

“Who knows, I might be back,” he told the reporter, his chest still heaving.

Truthfully, he didn’t know or care whether he would or wouldn’t be back. Not in that moment, at least. His body was in so much pain. He just wanted to sit down.

He managed to escape the reporter then, heading towards the cool down pool. He hopped in, ready to stare at that black line at the bottom of the pool one more time.

For so many years, for all he could remember in life, his goal had been to make that never ending black line his friend and not his enemy. But now that his relationship with the line was reaching a foreseeable end, he couldn’t say who’d won: him or the line.

\---

Was he happy for Michael?

Yes.

Was it a black and white kind of thing?

No.

Mixed in with the pride he felt for Michael was a fierce competitiveness, friendship, a little bit of jealousy (the intensity of the jealousy varied; occasionally it vanished completely, other times Ryan just couldn’t understand _why_. He worked just as hard as Michael yet Michael had that natural edge that Ryan simply couldn’t achieve no matter how hard he worked), and a little bit of something else which neither of them had ever dared mention.

Sometime between the hours of 2 and 3 in the morning was when Ryan couldn’t stop thinking about that little bit of something else.

_To: Michael  
Asdgahgauhagavti_

_From: Michael  
What’s up?_

Of course. Michael was awake too. How could you just fall asleep after winning your 22nd Olympic gold medal?

_To: Michael  
Can’t sleep. Wanna come over?_

_From: Michael  
Me neither. And yeah_

Ryan heard Michael at the door before he came in. He saw his silhouette in the doorway, gangling and lumbering, and suddenly everything made even less sense than before.

“Um,” Michael said.

“I didn’t know what to do with myself,” Ryan explained. It was true. He didn’t. He’d never quite mastered the art of losing, never knew quite how to act or what to think after it happened no matter how many times it did. He’d gone out tonight expecting to win, counting on it even. He hadn’t prepared himself at all for - for _this_. He’d always counted on another opportunity, but now… Who knew how many more opportunities he’d get?

And then there was Michael, his rival. Michael, who always overshadowed him and who’d always lurked around every corner of Ryan’s career. Michael, who was so awkward out of the water that he seemed to be his own species.

Even when Ryan was supposed to move on and step out of swimming’s picture, Michael was still there. That wouldn’t change.

“Can I - can I come in?” Michael asked.

“Come here,” Ryan said, feeling the strange urge to laugh.

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight, next to where Ryan was already seated. His phone lay forgotten next to his pillow.

“You’re in denial,” Michael said simply.

“About what?”

Michael sighed. “I know Ryan Lochte thinks it’s cute to play dumb, but I’m not as socially inept as everyone thinks I am.”

This time, Ryan really did laugh and he lay his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Okay, but you are.” He felt Michael stiffen beneath him and wished things weren’t like this. For a while they stayed just like that, and Ryan closed his eyes.

Honestly, what was he going to do now? At least Michael had a family now, a wife and a son. What did Ryan have?

Well, he knew what he didn’t have.

He didn’t have Michael.

All those times they’d raced, Michael winning most of the time but Ryan earning his fair share of victories, all those times they’d shared the podium… 2004, Athens. The first time he’d ever shared an Olympic podium with Michael, shared the gold from the 200 free relay. He’d never be able to forget the pride he felt in that moment when the flags rose and the anthem played, pride in himself and his country and everything in between. And then the 200 I.M. His first individual Olympic medal. A silver. Behind Michael, of course. It was almost cruel how things had come full circle. He’d started with the same race he’d just ended with. And this time, things had concluded not on the podium but just… hadn’t concluded at all. Faded out somewhere in the cool down pool. There was no closure. This couldn’t be the end, it just couldn’t.

“You okay Ry?”

Michael’s voice whipped Ryan back to the present. Hearing his name coming from Michael’s mouth never failed to make his heart trip over itself a little. He opened his eyes, became more aware of himself. Michael had managed to lay an arm around Ryan’s back without his noticing.

“Glory doesn’t last forever,” Michael said softly.

“Everything lasts forever,” Ryan replied, feeling rather childish.

“Nope, and the thing that sucks the most is, like, one thing just blends right into the next and it just hits you all of a sudden. Like, how there’s no boundaries in time, it just all blends together and you realize you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

Ryan quickly thought of the mess that was post-Beijing Michael. Maybe Michael could understand Ryan’s dilemma after all.

“You start to miss the past, even when it’s all still happening,” Michael said.

“Yeah. It’s worse to be at the end than to be already past it.”

“What do you wanna do now?”

“Well fuck, I don’t know. That’s the fucking problem.”

“No, I mean, right now. What do you feel like doing?”

Ryan looked at Michael for the first time then; his eyes were dark and shiny, and he was sucking in his bottom lip.

“Making out?” Ryan blurted.

Michael snorted a bit. Ryan flashed his trademark grin and wink.

“Can’t deny the fact that I’ve always wanted to,” Michael sighed.

“Can’t deny the fact that we’ve done it before,” Ryan said. “You drool like a fucking hound.”

“Well, you know, kind of hard to resist a heartthrob like you.”

Michael’s hands were running all over Ryan’s skin now. They kissed, hard, and just for a moment, Ryan was able to pretend that it was 2004 and everything was still just starting.

The kiss deepened, and Ryan forgot.

He pressed his thumbs into Michael’s biceps while Michael’s hands ran across Ryan’s abdomen, pulling at the snap waistband of his shorts. Ryan couldn’t feel the weight of his stomach anymore, there were so many butterflies. He didn’t know where they were or whether they were upright or horizontal. All he could feel was a light warmth and something wet on his cheek, which were tears belonging to either himself or to Michael. It didn’t matter whose.

There was no need to be scared of the future or nostalgic for the past because it was all happening right now.

(It’s not over.)


End file.
